He stood still for a few seconds, swaying. The concrete floor tilted dreamily to the right, to the left, like in the Funny House. He walked forward, one step at a time, lifted the latch, pushed open the door. It was that girl. Oskar's friend. Tommy stared at her without understanding what he was seeing.

Sun and surf.

The girl was wearing only a thin dress. Yellow, with white dots that absorbed Tommy's gaze, and he tried to focus on the dots but they started to dance, move around so he became sick to his stomach. She was maybe twenty centimeters shorter than him.

As cute as ... a summer day.

"Is it summer now all of a sudden?" he asked.

The girl put her head to one side.

"What?"

"Well you're wearing a ... what's it called ... a sundress."

"Yes."

Tommy nodded, pleased that he had been able to think of the word. What had she said? Money. Yes. Oskar had said that...

"Do you ... want to buy something?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Can I come in?"

"Yes, sure."

"Say that I can come in."

Tommy made an exaggerated, sweeping gesture with his arm. Saw his own hand moving in slow-motion, a drugged fish swimming through the air.

"Step inside. Welcome to the ... local branch."

He didn't have the energy to stay on his feet any longer. The floor wanted him. He turned around and flopped back on the couch. The girl walked in, closed the door behind her, put the latch back on. He saw her as an enormous chicken, giggling at his vision. The chicken sat down in an armchair.

"What is it?"

"No, it's just.. . you're so . .. yellow." I see.

The girl crossed her hands over a little purse in her lap. He hadn't noticed that she had one. No. No not a purse. More like a cosmetic bag. Tommy looked at it. You see a bag. You wonder what's inside.

"What do you have in there?"

"Money."

"Of course."

Nope. This is fishy. There's something strange about this.

"What do you want to buy, then?"

The girl unzipped the case and took out a thousand kronor note. One more. Then another. Three thousand. The bills looked ridiculously large in her small hands when she leaned forward and laid them on the floor. Tommy chortled: "What's all this?"

"Three thousand."

"Yes. But what for?"

"For you."

"Give me a break."

"No, really."

"That must be some kind of d.a.m.n ... Monopoly money or something. Isn't it?"

"No."

"It isn't?"

"No."

"What's it for, anyway?"

"Because I want to buy something from you."

"You want to buy something for three thou ... no."

Tommy stretched out one arm as far as he could, snapped up a bill. Felt it, crinkled it with his hand, held it up against the light and saw the watermark. Same king or whatever who was printed on the front. The real deal.

"You're not kidding, are you?"

"No."

Three thousand. Could.. . go somewhere. Fly somewhere.

Then Staffan and his mom could stand there and .. . Tommy felt his head clear a little. The whole thing was cuckoo but OK: three thousand. That was a fact. Now the only question was . . .

"What do you want to buy? For this you can have .. ."

"Blood."

"Blood."

"Yes."

Tommy snorted, shook his head.

"No, sorry. We're all sold out."

The girl sat still in the armchair, looking at him. Didn't even smile.

"No, but seriously," Tommy said. "I mean, what?"

"You'll get this money... if I get some blood."

"I don't have any."

"Yes, you do."

"No."

"Yes."

Tommy suddenly got it.

What the h.e.l.l.. .

"Are you ... serious?"

The girl pointed at the bills.

"It's not dangerous."

"But... what... how?"

The girl stuck her hand into the kit, fished something out. A small, white, square bit of plastic. Shook it. It rattled a little. Now Tommy saw what it was. A packet of razor blades. She put it into her lap, took out something else. A skin-colored rectangle. A large Band-Aid.

This is ridiculous.

"No, cut it out now. Don't you understand that... I could just take that money from you, you know. Put it in my pocket and say, What? Three thousand? Haven't seen it. It's a lot lot of money, don't you realize that? of money, don't you realize that?

Where did you get it from?"

The girl shut her eyes, sighed. When she opened them again she didn't look as friendly.

"Do you want to or not?"

She means it. She really means it. No ... no . ..

"What, are you, like, going to ... swish, and then ..." The girl nodded, eagerly.

Swish? Wait a minute. Wait Wait a little now... what was it... pigs ... He frowned. The thought bounced around inside his head like a rubber ball thrown hard inside a room, trying to find a resting place, to stop. And it stopped. He remembered something. Gaped. Looked her in the eyes. a little now... what was it... pigs ... He frowned. The thought bounced around inside his head like a rubber ball thrown hard inside a room, trying to find a resting place, to stop. And it stopped. He remembered something. Gaped. Looked her in the eyes.

"... no ..."

"Yes."

"This is some kind of joke, isn't it? You know what? Go. I want you to leave."

"I have an illness. I need blood. You can have more money if you want." She dug around in the kit and took out two more thousand kronor notes, put them on the floor. Five thousand. "Please."

The murderer. Vallingby. His throat slit. But what the h.e.l.l. . . this girl . .

"What do you need it for ... what the h.e.l.l... you're just a kid, you ..."

"Are you scared?"

"No, I can always ... are you you scared?" scared?"

"Yes."

"Of what?"

"Of you saying no."

"But I am am saying no. This is completely . . . come off it. Go home." The girl sat still in the chair, thinking. Then she nodded, got up, and picked the money up off the floor, put it back in the makeup kit. Tommy looked at the spot where it had been. Five. Thousand. A clink as the latch was lifted. Tommy turned over on his back. saying no. This is completely . . . come off it. Go home." The girl sat still in the chair, thinking. Then she nodded, got up, and picked the money up off the floor, put it back in the makeup kit. Tommy looked at the spot where it had been. Five. Thousand. A clink as the latch was lifted. Tommy turned over on his back.

"But... what... are you planning to slit my throat?"

"No, on the inside of your elbow. Only a little."

"But what will you do with it?"

"Drink it."

"Now?"

"Yes."

Tommy's mind turned inward and he saw that chart of the circulatory system projected over his skin like an overhead transparency. Felt, maybe for the first time in his life, that he had a circulatory system. Not just isolated points, wounds where one or more drops came out, but a large pumping tree of veins filled with ... how much was it?... four or five liters of blood.

"What kind of illness illness is it?" is it?"

The girl didn't say anything, just stood there at the door with the latch in her hand, studying him, and then the lines of veins and arteries of his body, the chart, suddenly took on the character of a ... butcher's chart. He pushed the thought away, and thought instead: Become a blood Become a blood donor. Twenty-five even and a cheese sandwich. donor. Twenty-five even and a cheese sandwich. Then he thought: Then he thought: "So give me the money."

The girl unzipped the case, took out the bills again.

"How about if I give you ... three now. And two after?"

"Yeah, sure. But I could just... jump you and take the money anyway, don't you understand that?"

"No. You couldn't."

She held the three thousand out to him, between index and middle finger. He held each one of them up to the light, checking to make sure that they were genuine. Rolled them into a cylinder that he clenched his left hand around.